“You think their life is manufactured?”
She shrugged. “I think real life is messy, and these guys aren’t messy enough.”
Miller hesitated. “We haven’t checked in with Jason’s employer yet…”
D.D. winced. Which would be the Boston Daily, a major media outlet. “Yeah, I understand.”
“I’m thinking of having one of my gals call in. Claim she’s doing a background check for security clearance, something like that. Somehow, it’s less suspicious if you have a female make the call.”
“Good idea.”
“And we’ll follow up with the daughter’s preschool. See what the teachers and staff have to say. Don’t little girls travel in packs, have little friends, attend sleepovers? Seems to me there’s gotta be some parents somewhere who know more about the family.”
“Works for me.”
“Finally, I got a copy of the marriage certificate faxed over. Now that I have Sandra’s maiden name, I’ll start tracking down the father, get more info out of Georgia.”
“All right. I’m assuming there’s still no sign of Sandra nor activity on her credit card?”
“Nope. Local establishments haven’t seen her. Local hospitals and walk-in clinics have no unidentified women. Morgue has no unidentified females. Credit card was last used two days ago at the grocery store. ATM card has no hits. Closest thing we have to activity is half a dozen calls on her cell phone. One call from the husband at two-sixteen A.M.-probably when he figured out his wife’s phone was ringing right behind him on the kitchen counter. Then a couple of calls from the school principal this morning trying to track her down, as well as three other calls from students. That’s been it.”
“She received calls from her sixth grade students?”
“Placed from their own cell phones, of course. Welcome to the brave new world of grown-up twelve-year-olds.”
“I’m so glad I don’t even have a plant.”
Miller grunted. “I have three boys-seven, nine, and eleven. I plan on working overtime for the next ten years.”
She couldn’t blame him. “So you’ll track financials, cell phones, and grown-up twelve-year-olds. I’ll go to work on searching the truck and lining up a forensic interviewer.”
“Think he’ll let us talk to the daughter? We don’t have anything to threaten him with anymore.”
“I think if Sandra Jones hasn’t magically been found by tomorrow morning, he won’t have a choice.”
D.D. had just risen from her chair when her desk phone rang. She picked it up.
“Jason Jones is holding on line one,” the receptionist said.
D.D. sat back down. “Sergeant D.D. Warren,” she announced into the phone.
“I’m ready to talk,” Jason said.
“Excuse me?”
“My daughter is napping. I can talk now.”
“You mean you would like to meet with us? I’ll be happy to send two officers to pick you up.”
“By the time the officers get here, my daughter will be awake and I will no longer be available. If you want to ask me questions, it needs to be now, by phone. It’s the best I can do.”
D.D. highly doubted that. It wasn’t the best he could do, it was the most convenient. Again, the man’s wife had been missing for twelve hours, and this was his idea of cooperation?
“We have arranged for a specialist to interview Ree,” she said.
“No.”
“The woman is a trained professional, specializing in questioning children. She will handle the conversation delicately and with the least amount of stress on your daughter.”
“My daughter doesn’t know anything.”
“Then the conversation will be short.”
He didn’t answer right away. She could feel his turmoil in the long pause.
“Did your wife run off?” she asked abruptly, trying to keep him off balance. “Meet a new guy, head for the border?”
“She never would’ve left Ree.”
“Meaning she could’ve met a new guy.”
“I don’t know, Sergeant. I work most nights. I don’t really know what my wife does.”
“Doesn’t sound like a happy marriage.”
“Depends on your point of view. Are you married, Sergeant?”
“Why?”
“Because if you were, you’d understand that marriage is about phases. My wife and I are raising a small child while juggling two careers. This isn’t the honeymoon phase. This is work.”
D.D. grunted, let the silence drag out again. She thought it was interesting that he used the present tense, are raising a child together, but couldn’t decide if that was calculated or not. He used the present tense, but not the actual names of his wife and child. Interesting person, Jason Jones.
“You having an affair, Jason? Because we’re asking enough questions at this point, it’s gonna come out.”
“I haven’t cheated on my wife.”
“But she cheated on you.”
“I have no evidence of that.”
“But you suspected it.”
“Sergeant, I could’ve caught her in bed with the man, and I still wouldn’t have killed her.”
“Not that kind of guy?”
“Not that kind of marriage.”
D.D.’s turn to blink. She turned this around in her head, still couldn’t sort it out. “What kind of marriage is it?”
“Respectful. Sandra was very young when we married. If she needed to work some things out, I could give her space for that.”
“Mighty understanding of you.”
He didn’t say anything.
Then D.D. got it: “Did you make her sign a prenup? Some kind of clause, if she cheated on you, then you wouldn’t owe her anything in the divorce?”
“There’s no prenup.”
“Really? No prenup? With all that money sitting in the bank?”
“The money came from an inheritance. I never expected to have it, ergo I can’t mind too much if I lose it.”
“Oh please, two million dollars-”
“Four. You need to run better reports.”
“Four million dollars-”
“Yet we live on twenty-five hundred a month. Sergeant, you’re not asking the right question yet.”
“And what would that be?”
“Even if I had motive to harm my wife, why would I harm Mr. Smith?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you ever read about Ted Bundy? He murdered and mutilated over thirty women, yet he wouldn’t steal an uninsured car because he thought it was cruel. Now, a husband who murders his wife rather than settle for a divorce is clearly psychopathic. His needs come first. His wife is little more than an animated object. She interferes with his needs. He feels justified in disposing of her.”
D.D. didn’t say anything. She was still trying to figure out if she’d just heard a confession.
“But the cat, Sergeant. Mr. Smith. Even if I had objectified my wife to a point where I decided I would be better off without her, what had the cat ever done to me? Maybe I could justify taking my daughter’s mother from her. But harming my daughter’s pet, that would be just plain cruel.”
“Then what happened to your wife, Mr. Jones?”
“I have no idea.”
“Has she ever disappeared before?”
“Never.”
“Has she ever not shown up for something, without bothering to call?”
“Sandra is very conscientious. Ask the middle school where she works. She says what she’s going to do, she does what she says.”
“Does she have a history of going to bars, drinking heavily, doing drugs? By your own admission, she’s still very young.”
“No. We don’t drink. We don’t do drugs.”
“She sleepwalk, use any prescription medication?”
“No.”
“Hang out socially?”
“We lead a very quiet life, Sergeant. Our first priority is our daughter.”
“In other words, you’re just regular, everyday folks.”
“Regular as clockwork.”
“Who happen to live in a house with reinforced windows and steel doors?”